When the sky grew bright, Murong Zhao awoke.
Opening her eyes, the space beside her was already empty.
She stared at the canopy above, lost in thought. The words Xiao Yan had spoken while holding her hand last night still echoed in her ears—"This sword is what I give you," "I hope you too can have such a sword," "to protect yourself and cut through anything that tries to stand in your way."
And his hand covering the hilt.
And the light in his eyes when he said "Murong Zhao" to her.
"Your Highness?" Su Yue peeked in and, seeing she was awake, approached with a smile. "What are you thinking about?"
Murong Zhao snapped back to reality and said softly, "Nothing."
But her hand instinctively pressed against her chest.
There, the skipped heartbeat from last night seemed not yet recovered.
Within half a day, news of Murong Zhao receiving a sword from the emperor and Xiao Yan frequently visiting Changle Palace completely shattered Consort Shu's patience.
Murong Zhao sat before the mirror, letting Su Yue comb her hair.
The reflection in the mirror showed calm eyes and brows, revealing no hint of anything unusual.
But she knew herself—something had changed.
Before, when she saw Xiao Yan, she would think, "What can His Majesty give me?" or "What is he testing me for today?" Now, when she saw him, she thought, "Is he tired today?" "Is he hungry?" "Is he feeling stifled?"
When did this change begin?
Was it that night when he was drunk and softly called her "Murong Zhao"? Or when he sent burn ointment, saying nothing, only having Li Fuquan quietly leave it outside the courtyard gate?
Or perhaps last night, when he held her hand and said, "I hope you too can have such a sword"?
She didn't know.
Su Yue was inserting a hairpin into her hair, chattering about what gifts had been sent from the other palaces today. Murong Zhao listened and suddenly gently pressed her hand to her chest.
Su Yue paused. "Your Highness? Did the hairpin hurt you?"
"No." Murong Zhao withdrew her hand. "Continue."
Some things, once they begin, cannot be taken back.
She thought.
Well, then, let them be.
That afternoon, the sunlight was just right.
Consort Shu, dressed in luxurious palace attire and adorned with pearls and jade, led dozens of palace maids and eunuchs, marching grandly and aggressively to the entrance of Changle Palace.
Before she even arrived, her sharp, sarcastic laughter drifted in:
"Oh, sister, this place is truly magnificent! His Majesty really dotes on you, having Changle Palace so exquisitely arranged. Even I, your younger sister, am envious!"
Murong Zhao was sitting at the table polishing her twin swords. Hearing the voice, she slowly looked up.
Consort Shu swaggered into the hall, her gaze sweeping over the exquisite furnishings, the warm charcoal fire, and the imperial gifts placed on the table. Jealousy burned fiercely in her eyes.
Consort Shu performed a perfunctory curtsy according to etiquette. "Your servant greets you, sister."
Without waiting for Murong Zhao to speak, she stood up on her own.
Her words remained sarcastic: "Is sister settling in comfortably? Unlike me, who has been in Changchun Palace for so long, rough and simple, not as precious as you, able to make His Majesty think of you every day."
Every word she spoke insinuated that Murong Zhao was seducing the emperor and stealing her favor.
Su Yue's face turned pale with anger but she dared not speak.
Murong Zhao simply raised her hand calmly. "Consort Shu, please take a seat."
Consort Shu sat down, her gaze shifting to a piece of calligraphy hanging on the wall, written by Murong Zhao the day before. The strokes were clear and strong, exuding a steady grace.
"This calligraphy, did sister write it?"
"Yes."
"The calligraphy is quite good." Consort Shu sneered, her tone suddenly sharpening. "But sister, you must understand that in the inner palace, merely knowing how to read and write is not enough."
"One must know how to serve others, how to please His Majesty, understand the rules, and know when to advance or retreat—only then can one stand firm. Some people, with lowly origins, simply don’t grasp these things."
These words were an open insult, directly targeting her background as a discarded daughter of Beishuo and a former resident of the Cold Palace.
Su Yue clenched her fists, itching to rush forward and argue.
But Murong Zhao merely lowered her gaze, her tone still respectful and calm. "Consort Shu speaks wisely. I am dull-witted and clumsy by nature. In the future, I will rely on Consort Shu’s guidance to avoid making mistakes."
No contention, no debate, no anger, no retort.
You throw barbs, and I catch them—but I don’t take them to heart.
Consort Shu choked on the spot, her chest tightening with frustration.
She had come precisely to provoke Murong Zhao, hoping to see her lose composure, burst into tears, or reveal her crude nature, so she could seize evidence and report it to the Empress Dowager.
But Murong Zhao remained impervious, soft as a ball of cotton, leaving Consort Shu’s punches to hit empty air.
Consort Shu continued with several more sarcastic, biting, and mocking remarks, but Murong Zhao remained neither cold nor warm, neither arrogant nor agitated. She either nodded in agreement or listened in silence, showing not a hint of temper.
After half an hour of fruitless effort, Consort Shu gained no advantage and only succeeded in angering herself.
She abruptly stood up, and before leaving, her gaze swept darkly over the pair of swords on Murong Zhao’s desk, then over the courtyard wall outside the window—
At the base of the wall, several blue bricks were slightly loose, and last year’s withered grass was stuffed into the cracks—a perfect hiding spot.
The corner of Consort Shu’s mouth twitched briefly, as if she had thought of something, and a malicious glint flashed in her eyes.
She withdrew her gaze and snorted coldly. "Enough! I won’t disturb sister’s rest any longer! I hope sister can remain this well-behaved and obedient!"
Her words were laced with venom as she turned and left in a huff.
The grand procession that had arrived with such aggression now departed in disarray.
After they left, Murong Zhao slowly sat down and picked up the cloth to resume polishing the sword.
Su Yue couldn’t hold back any longer, stomping her feet in anger. "Your Highness! Why didn’t you retort just now? She clearly came here deliberately to bully you! You’re so eloquent—you could have left her speechless!"
Murong Zhao continued her task without pause, but the corner of her mouth lifted faintly—
Very lightly, very briefly, gone in an instant.
Like a trace of coldness sweeping over snow.
"Why retort?" Her voice was calm. "She came here looking for trouble precisely to force me to lose composure, to make mistakes, to give her leverage. If I don’t engage, don’t get angry, and don’t argue, she has no way to deal with me."
"She’s gone now, so why stir up more trouble?"
Su Yue seemed to understand but not fully, her face filled with grievance.
Wei Zhao, standing guard nearby, lowered his head deeply.
Su Yue didn’t understand, but he did—the princess was enduring.
The princess was not afraid, not cowardly, not simply swallowing her anger.
This was using stillness to counter motion.
He had watched Murong Zhao rise from the Cold Palace of Beishuo, and he understood her restraint and sharpness better than anyone.
Before her wings were fully grown and the situation was unclear, avoiding conflict meant avoiding risk.
True ruthlessness was never in words but in the heart.
Wei Zhao looked at Murong Zhao’s serene profile, his eyes filled with admiration.
The princess was far more composed and far wiser than anyone imagined.
Outside the hall, in a corner, an inconspicuous figure flashed by and disappeared.
Zi Yuan lowered her head and hurried through the corridor, heading toward Changchun Palace.
Meanwhile, inside Changchun Palace.
Upon returning to her palace, Consort Shu furiously smashed a table full of items, gritting her teeth: "Murong Zhao! You wait for me! If you won't accept the gentle approach, then don't blame me for resorting to force!"
Suddenly remembering something, she narrowed her eyes and looked at the maid kneeling on the ground: "That Zi Yuan, is she still obedient?"
The maid quickly replied: "Your Highness, Zi Yuan said she will report all movements in Changle Palace truthfully."
Consort Shu curled her lips into a sinister smile: "Good. Tell her, what I want isn't trivial daily matters—it's leverage that can damn that wretched woman forever."
She paused, walked to the window, gazed toward Changle Palace, and lowered her voice: "Also—go find out where in this palace one can get a dead cat. Quickly, discreetly, without anyone noticing."
The maid froze: "Dead… dead cat?"
"What are you asking so much for?" Consort Shu glared at her, "Just do as instructed!"
The maid hurriedly bowed her head: "Yes, Your Highness."
Consort Shu turned around, looking at the deepening dusk outside the window, her eyes filled with venom: "Murong Zhao… aren't you so tolerant? I want to see how you'll endure when the crime of witchcraft is pinned on you!"
At the same time, inside Changle Palace.
Murong Zhao set down the cloth towel and suddenly spoke: "Wei Zhao."
"Your subordinate is here."
"When Consort Shu left earlier, she glanced toward the base of the wall." Her voice was very soft, "Pay extra attention recently; something might appear there."
Wei Zhao's gaze sharpened: "Your Highness means…"
Murong Zhao did not answer, only continued gazing out the window.
The sun set, dusk enveloped everything.
The nights in this deep palace were growing longer.